[sinclairfan]

SYDNEY VS KYLIE

Sydney fighting Kylie is a mesmerizing sight to behold.  Kylie's punches are aimed directly as the center of Sydney's face, and every third punch lands directly on her enemy's nose.  This causes Sydney to relexively turn away, and when it does, it appears the rout is on.  But then, as if by magic, Sydney conjures the determination to retaliate, staring down her oppenent with an imposing cocktail of hate, dtermination, revenge, and cunning.  Sydney's fists lash out at lighting speed, landing mercilessly on Kylie's face and chest.  Kylie stares back in frustration at the determination and sheer stubborness of her opponent, and the two steel their nerves for another round, or eight, of bareknuckled action.

Without warning, Dawn cums all over my probing hand, drenching it in sticky fluid.  I crave thr feel of her underboob, and massage and kiss her enthusiastically.  The 6-foot ceilings in the 250-year old house give a claustrophobic sensation of violence, and I clutch my best friend, never wanting to lose her companionship.

My pussy craves escape from the void it is experiencing, and I guide Dawn's hand, and thumb, deep inside of it, reveling in the friction of her knuckles on my flesh, outside and in.  I furiously masturbate myself with her hand, encouraging and almost begging her for a violent finger fuck.  Dawn is now, finally, responding to my pleas for reciprocation.

Kylie and Sydney belt each other flush in the face on the floor in front of us, Dawn's daughter's eyelids noticably blackening before our eyes, my own daughter's vaguely swelling shut.  What instigated this latest brawl between them?  Did they think Dawn and I were fighting in the room next to them?

Will they fight harder now if they think Dawn and I are fighting now?

> Fucking.  Bitch!

I slap Dawn as hard as I can.

She hesitates.  I nod at our daughters.  She looks, and gets what I'm saying.  She wants to escalate the coed fight, too.

Or.  Maybe she just want to fringe fight.  Like she and I did in 1987, while Laurie and Rita attempted to maim each other permanently.

Dawn and I start calling each other names.

Bitch.

Slut. 

cxnt. 

Whore.

Kylie and Sydney appear to hear us.  Their hairpulling echoes with tearing sounds reverberating thru the attic-bedroom.

Dawn and I begin rolling.

Dawn's left breast is inches from my mouth.

I think of our 1987 fight.

I bite it.

Dawn bites back at mine.

Like we wanted to do to each other 28 years ago.

And every year since.

To be continued.....

[Tigressel]

Really hot fight. Waiting for next round

[sinclairfan]

Maybe it's because our daughters are now the ages Dawn and I were during our first two fights in 1987 and 1991, but we're now communicating better and more openly than we have since those long-lost days.  We're able to connect non-verbally, with eye contact and with touch.

As we fight on the attic-bedroom bed in Essex, my mind, and Dawn's, is in 1987 at the Shoppers' World parking lot, when Dawn and I were fringe fighting feet away from the Rita-Laurie fight, and Dawn's left breast popped out of her tight sweater.  We looked at each other apprehensively right away, neither of us knowing what to do next.  Neither of us hated the other, we were just standing uop for a friend.  Dawn was fearful for the pain and humiliation she was now at my mercy to inflict, but also fearful that she would need to retaliate in kind if I chose to press my advantage.  Our fringe fight would then escalate to a full-on catfight, one for which neither of us had prepared.  We were 18 years old, and had no idea if we were "woman enough" to test ourselves in a vicious battle.  The situation resolved itself when I hesitated and sllowed my opponent to "tuck herself back in".  But our connection that day formed a lasting bond which has survived a lifetime of tests.

Similarly, in 1991, I walked over to Dawn's parents' house in Framingham uncertain of what might happen when, for the first time since 1987, we were alone together.  Real life had already intruded into our idyllic childhoods, with me in the process of dropping out of college for a second time, and unemployment forcing Dawn's dad to lose his I.T. career and downsize the family house.  We were both in a foul mood and needed to blow off steam in the worst way.  We ended up doing so with some friendly wrestling, hair pulling, and judo throws. 

But the 1991 fight could have gone down differently.  We were alone in the house.  We could have started actually fighting.

The 1987 fight could have gone down differently.  It could have escalated into a clothes-stripping catfight.

We knew by looks and by touch that neither of us wanted that.  Check that--we wanted it, we just weren't ready.

But it's 2015 now.  We're divorced and about-to-be divorced 40-something women now.  With daughters with wrecked academic careers.  Major steam to blow off.

We look at each other.  We feel each others' claws in our flesh.

We're on the same page.

We want the same thing.

Time to finally fight, no holds barred, no rules.

Right here, right now.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

NO HOLDS BARRED

Dawn and I have now discontinued our eye contact.  I can't stand to look at the bitch's face after feeling her teeth sink deep into my sideboob.  My first bites at her were probing nibbles at the top, not unlike Kylie's boy classmates had directed my way during our house-party hookups.  But Dawn's had a clesr malicious attempt, and the sting they gave me reverberates up my spine.  I see red, and sink my claws into her thick blonde hair.  Her curls are as full as they were in 1987 and 1991, and her torso nearly as hard-bodied.  How has Dawn stayed in such good shape all these years?  And where did she learn to bite like that into sideboob?

I try to straddle and pin Dawn, but she double fists my tits and tugs them hard, down, towards herself.  She rams her knees into my back, further driving my chest towards her reach, and towards her mouth.  She bites hard into my left breast, breaking skin and drawing blood.  In desperation I drive my claws into her scalp, hoping against hope that the pain I'm causing her is at least one third of the agony I'm feeling.  I've never seen someone at the bottom of a fight clinch inflicting as much damage as Dawn is laying on me.  I screech at her in anger, in frustration, in hurt.

> Like it on the bottom, fucking bitch?

> Thinking of sex as usual, gutter slut?

> Jealous I get more dick than you, frigid witch?

> Keep it up and you'll never fuck again, Divorced Debbie.

As viciously as I'm wrestling with my determined opponent, my conflicted psyche is wrestling even more with the cognitive dissonance of the urge to hurt my lifetime rival while juggling the pent-up insults being hurled my way.  I'm under no illusion that Dawn is contemporaneously inventing her insults at me--she's harbored them for an extended period, and letting them loose now.  Alcohol and anger, the ultimate truth serums.

But if Dawn can live and learns, so can I (despite her loftier educational achievement).  She's taught me that sideboob bites sting, and I decide the give the teacher a sample of her own lesson.  I lean down, claws still firmly embedded in skull, and nuzzle my nose and mouth into Dawn's right sideboob.  I gnaw like a puppy getting ahold of a shoe, uncaring as to the damage which may result.  Dawn finally regrets being the fighter on her back, as her bucking and wriyhing is unable to release my grip.  Dawn's flesh is salty in my mouth, and her screeches are music to my ears.

And now I feel another sensation wash thru my body.  Abject fear.  I've been feeling it a lot lately.  Fear that David will notice that he can fuck me without leaving his second wife.  Fear about my daughter's future.  Fear of getting old, of not being fuckable, at least not to twenty-somethings.  Fear of running out of money.  Fear of Kylie marrying.  Fear of Kylie never marrying.

Fear of losing a fight to Dawn.  I can accept having a draw with her.  I could never face her if I lost a fight to her.  Losing to Sydney I could excuse on the basis of an age disadvantage.  But not to Dawn.  Or regular fights come with a presumption on my part that I'm the superior fighter.  I was the one eho allowed Dawn to tuck her boob back in in 1987.  I'm the one who taught her how to hip-throw in 1991.  She's book smart, but I'm street smart.

Kylie and Sydney have paused to watch Dawn and I fight.  Now they're the ones fringe fighting.  Dawn and I are the Main Event.

Fear.

Fear is what made Rita and Laurie fight so hard in 1987--in their case, fear that they had invested their entire high school years in a boy they were about to lose to the other.

Dawn's knee into my back in like a car-wreck, whiplashing my neck and spinal chord.  The pain is jarring and foreign.  I instinctively slam her skull onto the ground, then belatedly realize we're fighting on a bed.

Fear.  That I'm out of fight tactics.

So I resume biting her chest, and she resumes screeching.

Sydney dashes to rescue her mom.  Kylie tackles her.  They resume fighting.  Dawn and I resume watching.

I cum, hard and in waves.  Fringe fighting.

I crave the salty taste on Dawn.  I lick her face.  She licks mine bsck, flicking my eyelids with her tongue.  I reciprocate.

Sydney and Kylie are fistfighting on the ground.  Another generational divide.  Dawn's generation, Rita's generation, Laurie's generation, my generations, except for the initial square-up, girls didn't throw fists.  Sydney and Kylie throw fists.

I love watching it.

It makes me cum.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

2 ON 2 FIGHT CONCLUSION

Sydney and Kylie continue exchanging haymakers.  Their blows have less force behind them than the start of the evening, as both girls are showing signs of fatigue.  But offsetting this is their similarly slowing reflexes, which is hindering their ability to either keep their hands high enough to block incoming punches or to even move their heads backwards or to the side in advance of a punch landing.  Consequently, their faces are continuing to progressively bruise and swell nearly beyond recgnition.  Only their flowing manes of brunette hair, one light and the other dark, remind me that these indeed are my and Dawn's grown daughters.

In other words, I stare, transfixed, not even wanting to pause and miss a thing for the .001 seconds it would take me to blink.

It's close, but Sydney is starting to win the fight.  Her endurance is stronger than Kylie's and her right cross technique slightly more agressive.  After a half hour of fighting, the incremental extra ummpphh behind each punch is starting to have an effect.  She's been applying herself more than my daughter, spending her time on the web looking for fights, while my daughter has been looking for sex.  And her long fight with me a few weeks ago no longer helped her to apply herself.  Applying herself--that's always been Kylie's problem.  Her dad, my ex, always complained to me about that.  Kylie under-applying herself at school, under-applying herself in sports.  Was he implying this was partly my fault?  Was he using our child aginst me in our divorce, something the mediator told us to never do?  Kylie was a total wash out at college, just like I was?

I get pissed for Kylie.  I need to stand up for her now.

I stand up to interfere in Sydney and Kylie's fight.

"Oh, no you dont!"  I hear Dawn's voice behind me.  He claws sink into my breasts, and her teeth into my right shoulder.  Her feet trip me, and we fall onto the floor in a catball.

I see red.  I'm jealous of Dawn for staying married for 20 years, for keeping her home together until her daughter was grown, for sparing Sydney the humiliation and trauma of needing to get to know a stepmon, for hearing a woman who's not her mom in her dad's bed.

I elbow Dawn, backwards, in the breasts and stomach and side.  I Boston Crab myself on top of her, and kick backwards with my ankles.  Dawn's arms roll up my front to my mouth, and I sink me teeth into her wrists, instinctively seeking the most sensitive area available.  I remember reading about pressure points sitting in a doctor's office waiting room--I remember thinking the knowledge might be useful someday if I ever fought Kylie's stepmom again, but the charts and pictures in the article flow back to me now.  I elbow and kick amd fight and resist like you're supposed to do if mugged from behind.  Applying myself--see, I tell myself, Kylie and I aren't complete failures, we can do it if and when we need to.

And Kylie needs me now.  Sydney is destroying my daughter's face.  A face she'll need to attract a marry the right man.  I don't have much time.  I need to.... ...neutralize ... ... Dawn; and then take down Sydney.

Dawn's bites and grip slowly weaken.  Coming at me from behind was a bad move tactically--she was already at less than full strength from our long fight earlier, a I knew how to finish her off from the fortuitous self-defense article from years ago.

I stomp on Dawn's stomach to finish her off.

Then I move over to Sydney.  She sees it's 2on1 now, the best, or worst, part of a 2on2 fight, depending on which side you're on.

Kylie and I are on the right side.  Sydney is on the wrong side. 

"You can take a punch, Syd.  But can you take a bite?"

I say this out of imtimidation as much as actual threat, but it works.  Sydney hesitates, and Kylie throws grabs her by the hair.  I backhand her breasts over and over, loud slaps echoing thru the tiny attic.  But more effective than any of my strikes is something intangible--despair.  Sydney sees her situation is hopeless.  To get out of the bind she's in, Sydney must hurt both Kylie and me, and she can't even hit or kick one of us.  Her mom has let her down, leaving her alone against two enemies. 

I never do bite her.  But Kylie does, frustrated at the two long, inconclusive duels she had with her rival.  She releases that frustration now, leaving scars on Sydney which only Sydney's future sex partners will ever see.

Dawn is similarly at my mercy.  But I spare her tonight.  Introducing our daughters into our fights in 2015 gave it a unique flavor.  And it reminded me why I love fringe fighting.  But it's gone far enough, too far really.  Anything in the future between Dawn and me needs to be just between Dawn and me. 

In 2019, we'll be 50 years old.  In 2018, we'll be in our forties for the last time.  49 years old.

One last chance to fight all out, while our bodies and bones can sustain it.

Kylie and I get uneasy being in the house with Dawn's and Kylie's bodies in the shape they're in.

We wash up, pack our stuff, and go out to our car.

We drive back to Framingham.  Kylie thanks me for letting her do to Sydney what she did.

I don't hear from Dawn or Sydney.

Wonder if Dawn's head is at the same place mine is.  A 2018 fight.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

2016

The rest of 2015 came and went.  I didn't try to contact Dawn, and she didn't try to contact me.  I read on the internet that her divorce was finalized, and that her family home in Connecticut was put on the market and then was sold for above its asking price.  Lucky bitch.  My divorce happened in a shit housing market, hers happened in a boom.   She always had the upper hand on me financially.

She also probably was gaining on me sexually.  I took solace that her ex-husband turned out to be mediocre in bed, and almost now wished she had stayed married to him.  I read somewhere that women who exit multi-decade marriages in middle age go on a post-divorce sex bender with men who are jacked up on Viagra.  No wonder she didn't contact me in 2015 and 2016--too busy fucking.

I was fucking too, just with my old stand-by's.  Kylie's 20-something high school classmates continued to swing by, even after they noticed Kylie was hanging out at my house less and less.  There were two or three boys--men, now, really--who I was flattered still thought of me "that way", stopping by for sex and pay-per-view movies. 

But my "go to" sex was still my ex-husband David.  He was more selfish in bed than Kylie's ex-classmates, but also more excited when he got me naked.  He used me horribly in bed, but he knew exactly what parts of my body that he wanted and needed, and the familiarity was comforting and soothing to both of us.  We were losing track of how much time we were spending with each other.  But his wife Karen wasn't.

In early June 2016, Karen's elderly and frail dad entered hospice care.  Not to get all spiritual and metaphysical, but I'm pretty sure his soul had exited his body and was "checking up on David" to make sure David would "be there" to take care of Karen.  If so, Karen's dad was no doubt appalled by what he saw--David engaged in full-blown ex-sex with me, constantly and vigorously.  He rallied from hospice care, and was released back to assisted living.  And Karen grew a backbone.

In late June 2016, Karen grew a backbone and showed up at my housr unannounced one morning.  She was all bad-ass in biker gear and big hair, but her tone was all business.  She forced her way into my house, and declared that while I may have won the first and, until now, only catfight she and I had engaged in, my continuing relationship with David was "bullshit", and she and were going to "have it out, girl", right here, right now, no witnesses, no rules.

Karen had an open invitation, as far as I was concerned, anytime anywhere, to test her womanhood against me, and so I motioned her to "come at me", if that's what she wanted.  Karen removed her jewelry and emptied her pockets, stretched her hamstrings like she was about to start a morning jog, and we were tearing into each other tooth-and-claw.

My experience in biting, and being bitten by, Dawn and Sydney came in handy that morning, since I was unflustered and unflappable in the face on Dawn's attack.  In fact, I paid her back triple for how hard she came at me, breaking skin and drawing blood from her shoulders and biceps.  Dawn and I were never going to be friends, and with Kylie grown, all need and pretence for even a bare level of civility had disappeared.  I hated her, she hated me.  Our sex time with David was a zero sum game, and we each wanted every minute we could get going forward.  Finally, we each thought the other was an insufferable bitch.  We were out to hurt each other.

Our claws sank into the other's scalp, and we sought to slam the other's skull into furniture and floor.  Our legs snaked around each other, our knees grinding each others' crotch.  We tore at each others' hair, wanting David to see by evidence and not testimony what we had done to the other for his sake.

> I hate you, you prissy bitch.  I never would have divorced David if I knew he would marry you.

> David would have never married you if he had met me first.

> Fuck you I would have killed you if you had talked to David before I married him.

> Fuck you Debbie kill me now if you think you can.

> Fuck you Karen don't tempt me or I fucking will.

I'm astounded by how strong Karen is during our fight, like a completely different opponent than she was during our first fight.  Am I bringing this out in her.

We scratch and claw at each others' faces, fingers ending up in mouths and getting bitten unforgivingly.  I'm angered by the damage Karen is doing to my skin and flesh, and desire to do triple in return to her.  I want her out of my life, out of David's life.

> I'll make David divorce you and kick uou out, Karen.

> Over my dead body, Debbie, you'll never ever have him.

> That his decision, not yours bitch.

> It's my decision too, stupid, since you let him go.

Karen and I are on our feet now, slapping and kicking uncontrollably.  In all my fights with Dawn and Sydney, I fought methodically and in control.  This fight is different.  It's desperate.  And aminalistic.

I want my continued sex with David.  It's something I've come to count on.

Karen and I sink our teeth into each others' necks.  We're instinctively searching for each others' jugulars.

But the pain of teeth in our neck makes us release our grip.

Our claws find our hair, and we fall onto the floor again in a catball.

We're frustrated that every tactic we apply is met in kind.

> You have some fucking, nerve, bitch, coming to my house.

> What do you call FUCKING MY HUSBAND?!?!?!?

> HE WAS MY FUCKING HUSBAND FIRST!!!!

> I WANT HIM THED FUCK BACK!!!!

> You can't, SWEETIE!!!!

> Prove it!!!!!

Karen forms a fist and starts swatting at my nose, mouth, and eyes.

I respond, but not as effectively.

Karen can't be doing this to me.

This is Karen we're talking about.

Sad sack Karen.

Holy roller Karen.

****************

At noon that day, I come to, and call Kylie.

> Can you come over?  Karen just beat the shit out of me.  I think I lost a couple teeth.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

30TH CLASS REUNION AT MARIAN, 2017

After I lost my fight with Karen, my ex-husband David stopped sleeping with me and stopped taking my calls or texts.  I itched for revenge agsinst Karen, but then decided David wasn't good enough, or at least considerate enough, in bed to make it worth it--it being the further bite and scratch scars Karen would inflict on me even if I managed to win a rematch.  I kinda moved on, over a decade after our divorce. 

You know how when you're getting sex you get more and when you stop getting it you get even less.  Well, I was on the wrong end of that equation during 2016 and 2017.  As soon as David stopped sleeping with me, so did Kylie's 20-something friends.  There's a thin line between the fun sexy MILF and the washed-up slut, and in the eyes of Kylie's friends I was suddenly the latter.  I missed sex, and I missed the companionship, no matter how flawed, that came with it.

I was lonely.

Lonely enough to accept an invitation go the 30th class reunion that fall at Marian.  I had never attended a Marian reunion before--I guess I didn't feel like I was a very good Catholic.  I got one of Kylie's friends to take me in return for a dozen blow jobs over the summer.  It felt good the be the woman there with the youngest date.

I felt guilty, until I saw women there was same sex Plus-one's.  Guess the Catholic Church has changed since I left it.  And Marian.

I freeze when I see one of the women dates.  Holy shit.  Is that Rita?  Will she want to talk to me?  Will she remember me?

> Rita?

> Holy crap.  Debbie???

We hug, our breasts rubbing together.

> Rita, I miss you.  You're in Framingham?

> Ashland.  Down the road.  I've tried looking you up on Facebook a couple times.  You're either not on Facebook or got married.  <<<She notices I have no ring.  I notice she has none either.>>>

> Not on Facebook.  Got married.  Then got divorced.

> Ya, been there.

> And?  now?  I mean....your date is a woman, right?

> Yea, trying the other team for awhile.  We'll see.  How about you.  Like, wow, what's he?  23?

> Well, yea.  Just a date tho, if you know what I mean.  Rita, I didn't know if you'd want to talk to me....after what happened in 1987.

> Debbie, are you kidding me.  You're my sista.  You tore Laurie's friend's tit nearly off for me.  What was her name?  Dawn?  I've ...  umm.... thought about that since then. 

<<<<Eyes in the crowd turn towards us.>>>>>

> Rita, ummm,  you and I need to talk.  I'll ditch my 23 year old if you ditch your ....  um .... bitch.

> Deal.

Rita and I meet in the parking lot and head straight for my car.  I drive 60 in a 35 back to my place, our hands already touching each other through and under clothing.

We head for my couch and begin kissing, coming up for air to ask the questions we're dying to hear the answers to.

> Did you ever fight Laurie again?

> I thought we had something arranged twice.  1997 and 2002.  But she backed out both times.  Chicken shit.  And you?  Did you fight Dawn again?

<<<The kissing transitions to finger fucking.  Rita's pussy feels like she never had kids.>>>>>

> Um, .... 7 times ..... including 2 years ago.

> Is that where these scars are from.

> The ones on my breast, yes.  Those are from Dawn.  The bite marks mostly from my ex's new wife.  Last year.

> Debbie.  Where have you been all my life?

> I've been right here.

> My loss.  When can I watch you fight Dawn again?

> Let's email her right now and find out.

> Or.... we can fuck first.  Then email.

> Lady's choice.

> Fuck ladies.  Teach me to be a bitch like you.

To be continued.......

[sinclairfan]

RITA'S STORY, AS OF 2017

I manage to shut up long enough to let Rita tell her story of what happened after the Shoppers World 4on4 fight in 1987.
**************************
The summer after Laurie beat me up at Shoppers World was a disaster.   I was fine with her doing whatever to me, as long as Chris would pick me over her, but the 4on4 fight that happened was public enough... well, him picking me didn't happen.  Just the opposite.   Somehow the story got around Framingham that I had tried to 4on1 Laurie.  Everyone knew that girls walked around Shoppers World in Framingham and Natick Mall in Natick in posses of 4, but when my posse collided with Laurie's that day in June, somehow I was the bully.

I was supposed to attend orientation at Wheaton College in Norton, MA the next month.  Ours was going to be a historic class--the first coed class in what was previously an all-female college.  I was looking forward to meeting the first Wheaton College male students, hooking up with them, even though that term wasn't even invented yet.  Laurie or whoever could have Chris then--I wouldn't need him.

But after Laurie beat me up at Shoppers World, I couldn't do it--I couldn't show my face at Wheaton.  How would I explain my two black eyes, my bite scars, my missing tuffts of hair?  That I got into a high school catfight over a boy?  Great introduction to an institution of higher learning, right?  Thanks, Laurie.  Thanks, Chris.

Needless to say, I blew off Wheaton.  They mailed me back my $4,500 deposit.  I worked for the next three years as a restaurant server.  I told myself that I was working for a living instead of studying Keats and Coleridge.

I got married in 1991.  I was divorced in 1994.

I was living in Ashland, MA.  Ashland.  Trashland.  Same difference.

I put out word that I would kick the shit out of Laurie if she ever set foot in Ashland.

She didn't.

That was the wrong threat.  I should have said I eould beat the shit out of her.  Anytime.  Anywhere.

In 1997, I thought we were going to fight at the Medway High School Thanksgiving Day football game.  She didn't show.

In 2002, I thought we were going to fight in the parking lot of a Bugaboo Creek restauarant in Milford, MA.   Laurie didn't show.

I masturbated both times instead of fighting her.

Before the fight.
After the fight got cancelled.

What's she afraid of?

Why won't she fight me?

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

LIVING WITH RITA, 2017-2018

I spent all of 2011 to 2017 craving to be kissed; craving to be kissed by my ex-husband David, craving to be kissed by Kylie's boyfriends, craving to be kissed by Dawn, craving to be kissed by Kylie herself.  On the mouth.  With tongue.

Six long years of unfulfilled cravings.

A few months with Rita after the Marian 30th reunion more than made up for that.

When Rita would kiss me, she would press her face straight into mine, completely invading my privacy.  She didn't care if my face was washed up or clean; or hers.  She didn't care if my pits were were deoderized or anti-persperized; or hers.  She didn't care if my hair was combed; or hers.  She would just kiss, and kiss, and kiss me.  Our lips would make that loud smacking sound, sucking and licking each other desperately.  I remember one of the repressed Catholic girls at Marian in the 1980s getting caught by the nuns passing notes, and the nun reading it in front of the entire class.  The note started, "Can you find a boyfriend for me?  I am D-E-S-P-E-R-A-D-O."  The nun asked the whole class what "desperado" meant, and the whole class blushed and laughed. 

Rita and I spend 2017 and 2018 kissing like that.   Desperado. 

Desperate for kisses.

And desperate to fight.  Her desperate to fight Laurie.  Me desperate to fight Dawn.

A clawing, biting fight.  Leaving scratches and bite marks, like my fight with Karen left all over my body.

The whole time we kiss, thst's all we can think about. 

Is it 2018 yet?

Is it time to challenge Laurie?
to challenge Dawn?

Should we just jump them at work?  At home?  I tell Rita that's what Sydney did to me in 2015.  She asks to see Sydney's picture, and can't believe how hot she is.

You fought Sydney?  YOU almost fought LAURIE?  In a rematch?

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

1987 YEARBOOKS

In my house, I have 1987 yearbooks from all three Framingham schools--Marian, Framingham North, Framingham South.  Rita and I look at the headshots of three 1987 high school seniors--me, Rita, Laurie.

Shit, all three of us were hot.

With our big 1980s hair.  Fuck, how much hairspray did it take for us to get our hair like that.  Why did we even bother dating boys.  Why did it take take our 40s for Rita and me to discover women.

Rita looks at Dawn's headshot.  She's jealous as fuck that I've known Dawn continuously since high school.  That I touched Dawn's bare breast at the 1987 Shoppers World 4on4 fight.

I'm jealous as fuck that Rita was sleeping with Laurie's boyfriend behind Laurie's back their entire senior year of high school.  That sex must have been hot as fuck.

We go into the bathroom and get out brushes and hairspray and see how big we can get our hair.  We're surprised how close we're able to replicate our 1987 look.  Shit, we should wear our hair like this more often.

Especially when we're making out with each other.  Which we start doing right now.

And finger fucking.  Did Chris used to finger fuck Rita when the two of them were cheating on Laurie?  Is that why David used to like fucking me--because he was cheating on Karen?  Is that why I liked it, even though David totally used me?

Rita and I make loud smacking sounds when we kiss, which turns me on even more.  Rita and I always cum together.  David and I never did, either during marriage or post-marriage.  Him cumming was a turnoff to me, I needed to wait till he was done and quiet to cum.  Is that why I divorced him so abruptly?

Rita and I were never a possibility in 1987 ... in 1997 .... even in 2007.  It's amazing what a different world we're in in 2017.  My daughter can date girls without raising anyone's eyebrows.  When we party in my house with her classmates, I know I've heard her cumming with other girls.  Why have none of them ever cum into my room, like the boys willingly do?  Do they know how different girl-on-girl was when Rita and I were coming of age?  Do they assume I'd be terrible at it?

Because Rita and are are pretty darn good at it, right about now.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

LOUDEN, NEW HAMPSHIRE  SUMMER 2017

As the summer of 2017 progresses, Rita and I are stll going strong.  Both as a couple, and in our respective quests to track down our enemies, Dawn and Laurie, for a rematch brawl.

Now, it's hard enough for a 40-something woman to arrange a fight with a single woman.  Rita and I had something else working against us.  By June we had learned, by internet and by strategically placed phone calls, that Dawn and Laurie had (coincidentally) each gotten re-married.  Which meant a couple things.  First, and most importantly in 2017, they had (coincidentally, simultaneously) scrubbed their Social Media footprint.  They had taken down their Facebook and Instagram pages, and had even gone through the work to have old posts on Google, and even ancillary sites like Yelp and Pinterest deleted.  Rita and I witnessed this happening before our eyes, as one day we would specifically see one of Dawn's posts on Pinterest or one of Laurie's on Yelp, and three days later it would be gone.  Dawn and Laurie were each trying to move on with their new lives and leave their old lives, and everything and everyone, like Rita and me, behind.

Equally inconvenient, Laurie and Dawn were now surrounded by new step families.  New husbands, to protect them if we jumped them at home, and new step-children and step-nieces and step-nephews.  Rita and I didn't want pain-in-the-butt innocent bystander kids around when Rita crossed paths with Laurie or I did with Dawn.

So, circumstances, and the passage of time, were working against Rita and me.  But we had each other, and so we held on to the dream of some sort of 1987 Shoppers World reunion.

In the meantime, we both realized we needed to keep our fight skills sharp.  I was still feeling the sting, literally and figuratively, of losing my biting-clawing donnybrook against David's 2nd wife Karen.  Losing that fight to her was humiliating, and I could never allow a loss like that to happen again.  Rita, too, wanted to step up her game.

We went out on nights and weekends looking for streetfights against other women.

We came close one summer 2017 weekend against a crowd of cougars in Hyannis, MA.  Downtown Hyannis has a grundgy rock and roll scene going on, with lots of drinking.  I ran into a rocker blonde my age and size who told me I had Brillo pad hair, so she obviously wasn't hitting on me.  We sized each other up, to the excitement of her friends and of Rita, but we got broken up by the large crowd, and there was no where private to go finish--all the hotel rooms in the area were sold out and the beaches were packed.  We considered swapping cell phone numbers, but I didn't want her hacking or id-theft'ing me, nor did I want her friends to be able to devise a plan for jumping me, so the incident fizzled out without a fight.  But Rita and I were encouaged that we "still had it"--that other women our age could see Rita and I were DTF-Down To Fight.

Later that summer, we went to the NASCAR race at Louden, New Hampshire, and wore Kurt Busch and Kyle Busch tshirts and gear.  Kurt and Kyle are the two of the most unpopular drivers with regular NASCAR groupies.  It worked like a charm one practice day in the track bleachers.  Two blonde women in their 30s, both a litlle bit taller than Rita and me, with Southern accents, started giving Rita and me looks, and then lip.  We gave it right back, and the women were inviting us to their camper later that night to discuss our differences.  We both asked if we were there with men and/or other hangers-on, and both "teams" claimed no.

Rita and I were on.

We had a date for a 2on2 chick fight.

Just like high school.

To be continued.......

[sinclairfan]

"HOW DO Y'ALL WANT TO DO THIS, BITCHES?"

As Rita and I got dressed for our brawl with the two NASCAR blondes, the anticipation of the imminent fight was only part of our excitement.  There was also the excitement of other fights to come, as the younger women's acceptance of our challenge made Rita and me that it was possible, and not horribly difficult, to find catfights with strangers.

Sort of like when you have a hot date with a guy.  It's not just that that particular guy wants you.  It's the realization that other guys would want you, if you would just put yourself out there.

Like the feeling I would get before my booty call dates with my ex-husband.  Damn, I miss David.  It totally peeves me that Karen put an end to my affair with him.  My biting fight with her is all just a foggy haze now--I wouldn't believe it actually happened if I couldn't see and feel the teeth scars all over my upperbody with my own eyes and hands.  Fuck, that was an intense fight.  Primal.  Personal.  It must be exhilarating, life-transforming, to win a fight like that.  Their sex together since that day must be ...  transcendent.

I burn to get back at Karen someday for that.  To have a fight with her that's even more intense.  Totally take the gloves off with her--total war.  Have I been wasting my time with Dawn these past 30 years?  Is my real rival right before my eyes?  Is it Karen?  Is that who I should be fighting?

Rita can tell my thoughts are a million miles away.  "You're not wiggin' out on me babe, are ya?  I need you to hold your own with the older one while I take down the younger one.  Then we'll gang up on the older one."

I'm a little bit stung and offended that Rita assumes she's the tough girl in our 2-woman gang and I'm just the reinforcements.  She basing our hierarchy on the 1987 Shoppers World incident, when I played a backup role.  But I have 3 decades of fight experience under my belt since then, while Rita has been futilely pursuing an opponent who has little apparent interest in getting down with her.  But rather than take the bait and bicker, I decide to show my stuff tonight by hurting my blonde worse than Rita hurts hers.

The blondes have already picked out a fight "ring" in the campground woods next to their vehicle.  "How do you want to do this, bitches?" the hosts graciously offer?  "Fight one right after the other, or all at once?".
Since Rita's and my spat while getting dressed has left neither of us in the mood to fight, we answer by stepping forward and engaging with our enemies immediately.

I want nothing more right now than for this fight tonight to be a prelude, and practice, for a showdown rematch with Karen, so I want my Southern blonde opponent to know she's free to bite me, and anywhere.  But I'm afraid that if I bite first, she'll call out to her partner in protest, and the 2on2 fight in progress will be cancelled prematurely.  So I attempt to incite violence in her by getting under her skin.

As the tall blonde and I yank hair and pull our faces together, I start muttering challenging intentionally provocative Jerry Springer-ish trashtalk into her ear.
> I 'dun heard y'all Southern folk don't 'preciate gays.  Well that there partner of mine and me, we's full on lesbians, y'all gotta problem with that, albino?
> You betchya, makes me wanna fuck you up.
> Well, let's go Barbie, let's do it, let's fuck each other up real bad.

Thr blonde must have her own issues going on (in denial about being a lesbian herself, if you ask me, but that's not my concern), because she wants this fight to include teeth just as bad as I do.  At least, she does now.  With our sneakers kicking up dust from the dirt below us, we pull each other close and each find a spot where cleavage and ligaments merge together and tilt our heads to the side and bite hard with our cuspids, both breaking flesh.  Both of us are in white tank tops, which now serve as towels and begin absorbing our bleeding wounds from the inside.  Astounding at the damage we've inflicted so readily, the visual satisfaction stokes our competitive juices, each of us now wanting to up the ante.  I form a fist, and take aim at the blonde's nose, throwing roundhouse rights at the target a good three inches above my eye-level.  As the blonde and I circle, I for the first time see Rita's progress with her opponent.  The younger blonde has thrown Rita to the ground and is pinning her, but the two are distracted by the blood-stained tank tops of the two adversaries fighting 15 feet away from them.  I guess from the looks on their faces that they're trying to figure out how we drew so much blood.  Did we each bring a knife to this fistfight?

Rita is going to need my help soon, just like I was hoping, so I can't blow this chance to earn street cred with her.  I need to finish off my blonde opponent.  Rita's opponent gives me the idea I need.

I can't help but notice how the blonde mounting Rita is pausing to fix her hair.  These two blondes are narcississtically conscious of their looks.  I decide that my opponent won't at all appreciate a bit scar on her face.

So I resume our jack-knifed heads-down hairpull, trying to get my mouth as close to her face as possible.  When her protruding right cheekbone actually enters my open mouth, I clamp down hard.

The bite has the effect I was hoping for, as the blonde explodes in a tornado of kicks and angry recriminations and threats, vowing to literally kill me.  She throws fists and upper cuts that cause my mouth to taste of iron from either her blood or mine, and our fight for the first time goes to the ground, me on top, being more in control of my anger.

The two mounted combinations are laying side by side, the spent Rita and my wounded laying flat on their backs, the younger blonde and me sitting side by side on their chests.  We turn and look at each other challengingly.  We're the two alphas here.

Still mounting our defeated opponents, we bearhug each other, and hump the women under us.

We open our mouths and flick our tongues angrily at each other, me trying to smear blood down the younger blonde's throat.

The bleeding wound from my chest makes me lightheaded an enhances my arousal.

As if such arousal was necessary.

After all, I'm mouth-fighting one blonde as I ride another.

All four of us are cumming uncontrollably and loudly in the dense woods.

I think I'm ready to take on Karen.

To be continued......

[sinclairfan]

RECONNECTING WITH KYLIE

I decide not to dick around in fighting Karen.  No cat and mouse texting.  No phone threats.  I'll just get her alone somewhere, just cut loose, and "see what happens".  I have way more fight experience than her--I like my chances. 

I'm blocked on David's social media.  But Rita isn't, so she starts monitoring his business travel.  A week comes up where he has a business trip to Texas, and I decide to drive over to his house and catch Karen alone on a Tuesday afternoon.  The line at the ER at the hospital if one or both of us needs to go.  Since we'll be biting each other during the fight.

I drive over to David and Karen's place on a stormy Tuesday afternoon.  The thought of brawling with Karen in the middle of a thunderstorm gets me so horny that I take the long way and masturbate at every red light and stop sign.  I'm not nervous at all about the fight.  I can take this bitch.

I knock on the door.  Kylie answers.

It's been months since I've seen or even talked to my daughter.  The longest dry spell since right after my divorce from David when Kylie was.... what was she? .... eight? .... nine? ....  How do I not know?  Why did I withdraw for that stint?  Was I that bad of a mom? ....  that bad of a wife?

Kylie breaks the ice my hugging me.  I hug her back, squeezing tight.  I ask if I can come in.  I hope she doesn't notice that my hand smells like cum.  She lets me in.  We sit to talk.  She goes first.

I suppose you're hear to see ...  Karen

Sort of.  But I'm happy you're here.  Are you ok?

Actually, yes.  I'm working at EMC.  Well, Dell.  It's called Dell now, did you know that?  Dad got me the job. I'm learning to code.

Wow, little Miss Tech-ie.  Good, I'm glad.

How about you, Mom.  Seeing anyone?

Kinda.  It's ...  umm .... did Karen tell you?  I'm dating a woman.  Rita.

That girl from the high school yearbooks, right?

That's the one.  I .... umm.... met her at the Marian 30th reunion. 

I know ....  word got around you ditched your date, Doug.  So, no, it wasn't Karen who told me.

Oh.  I'm sort of sorry to hear that.

So you could have another reason to kick her ass?  Is that why you're here?

Ummm.... yes.  And  ...  yes. Does that ... excite ... you?

...... Yes.  A lot.

Which part?  Me fighting?  Or her?

.......Both.  Is that bad?  Wrong answer?

If you're not lying to me ....  it's not wrong, Kylie.  Or ...  I don't think it is.  Did you want to tell me something?  This seems like the time.

Karen and I ...  sort of  .... kiss.  And hug.  Like for long ...  sessions ... at a time.  We're still figuring out what we like. 

Does David know?

No, no, no.  No.

Is that why you haven't talked to me?

Probably.

Did you ...  like the two threesomes we had?  Before our fight with Dawn and Sydney.

One was ok.  For the variety.  I didn't like the second...NOT because of you tho.  Nothing like that.  It's just... threesomes are confusing ...  emotionally.  Too much work.  Like peeling shrimp, ya know?

Is talking to me and to Karen at the same time confusing that same way?  'Too much work?'.

Pretty much.

I should have never divorced your father.

Are you going to get back with him?

I doubt he'd take me back.  But I do want to get old with him.  And with you.

I know.  Me too. 

What about Karen?

You tell me.  What are you going to do with her.

Make her wish she never met us.

I'm ...  so .... fucking ...  hot.

I know.  Me too.  Show me how you and Karen spoon.

How'd you know we spoon?  I never mentioned that.

Lucky guess.  Show me, Kylie.

I get on the inside.

***************

For the next two hours, I spoon my daughter, her hair in my face the whole time.

Kylie tells me she'll arrange for Karen yo be home this time tomorrow--Wednesday.  Karen and I can have our fight then.

To be continued.....

[sinclairfan]

PRE-FIGHT

Rita and I make love in my bed the night before my brawl with David's new wife Karen.  Well, his 2nd wife.  She's not new anymore.  She's now been married to him longer than I was, which burns me up. 

A lot of things are burning me up tonight. 

My lovemaking with Rita has been less intense since she lost in the 2on2 fight she and I had at the Louden, New Hampshire NASCAR race.  Losing a fight is not the way to impress my sexually, or to turn me on.  It burns me that she lost the Shoppers World fight to Laurie in 1987.  Maybe my life would have turned out better.

It burns me that Karen is messing around sexually with my daughter Kylie.  Kylie is vulnerable.  Karen is supposed to protect her, not prey on her.

It burns me that Rita's body is 48 years old, and not 20 like Kylie's.  The ravages of age.  I want to be in bed with a young body right now.

Rita had bloodwork done yesterday--she shows me the pinprick in her right arm.  The hole still visible, the bruise.  I want to put 25 holes like that in Karen's skin tomorrow.  With my teeth.  Our fight is going to be no holds barred, no rules.  It turns me on that we are fighting to be Kylie's protector, and David's lover. 

We should have had this fight before David married Karen.  We tried tolerating each other for years, but that never worked.  For any of us.  Not for Karen.  Not for me.  Certainly not for Kylie.  A woman her age can only have one mother.  Certainly not for David.  When a man has two lovers, he disrespects both of them.  That's one of the lessons of #MeToo.  A gentleman, a true one, only has one lover.

Tomorrow, Karen and I will settle which one of us it will be.

I hope they get divorced after that, David and Karen.  I want her gone.  I hope she eats serious crow and gets a divorce, and has to explain that to her Catholic family.

And explan the scars on her body.  That she lost a catfight to her husband's first wife.  Has to explain that her husband had a first wife.  That by itself will be sweet.

It will be worth all the scars she gives me.

Kylie will feel so safe that I fought for her like that.

Do your worst, Karen.

I'll pay you back ten-fold.

To be continued......

[catlover123456]

why so small...such a great great story but why you are torturing us by posting very little...we want more..plzzzz